Sometimes I’d Like To Be Suprised…
Departing this afternoon was very nearly the stupidest idea I’ve ever embarked upon. When I parked my car six hours later, it looked as if I had driven Klaus into the murkiest part of a secluded swamp. I wonder what the Eastern Shore drivers thought had happened to this speeding silver VW? Why was this the case? Well, the first two hours of my trip looked something like this:
That’s right, a fucking blizzard. It cleared by Altoona, but spending an extra half hour trying to get to I-80 because I couldn’t make it up the last hill before the main road really set the tone for this entire journey.
On nearly every drive I make from Maryland’s lovely Eastern Shore to wherever it is that I’m going, I find the exact same thing. Some excellent driver is inevitably making a leisurely trek down the left lane, unbelievably unaware of my burning rage and the rage of the dozens of other motorists trapped behind them for twenty plus miles. What’s particularly aggravating about this occurrence is that, almost always, the offending party is a middle aged person in an L.L. Bean polo shirt driving a $60K+ Mercedes while on the phone, no doubt asking their significant other whether they had enough San Pellegrino for the weekend.
There are several things that really irk me about this whole situation. First off, these cars are amazingly well-engineered, FAST German creatures designed to barrel down the Autobahn, devouring lesser mechanical beasts. If I had the bank account to support a car like this, you’d better believe I’d be doing 110 mph everywhere I go. (213 drivers, fear the day this happens.) Secondly, just once, I’d like to finally catch up to the terrible driver and – while passing them in the right lane – discover something other than what I’ve come to expect. If that slate grey Mercedes R-Class could be driven by a dog or person without eyes, then, THEN, I’d be happy again with the transportation universe.